My brows furrowed of their own will. Something seemed…off. I’d expected him to be more worried than he seemed to be. But his voice was flat, listless. “Are you okay?”
Hanson shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. “The instructors and others are trying to figure out why the beds won’t come out. I’m just watching.”
“You’re not scared?”
He shook his head, lifting up his shirt to reveal his stomach…and a small square patch. “I have medicine the instructor gave me. It makes me not so emotional.”
Oh, no. Sometime between my visit with him and now, they’d dulled him. Just like the Book advised. Just like what I’d tried to do to myself.
“Hanson, you don’t have to wear that,” I said, trying my best to keep my voice smooth and still, to not reveal the edge of panic creeping in. My brother couldn’t be like them. I would not allow that to happen. “It’s okay for you to feel emotions, I promise. And next time I see you we can—”
Hanson was moved out of the way, and one of the instructor’s faces replaced his. “Excuse me, it’s his bedtime, and I still have other students I need to medicate before then. We need to go.”
“I was just talking to my brother—”
“All praise the Machine.” The screen went black.
The anger from earlier swelled back inside me, making everything beneath my skin boil with rising fury. How dare they medicate him like that? Things were falling apart because of the Machine and they chose to ignore, ignore, ignore.
I wanted to go there and rip it off him, sneak him out. But remembering Areta’s story about her son cooled that sentiment. If I did that, I’d never get near him again—they’d see to it. I had to play their game long enough to figure out how to handle this.
I stripped off my tunic and pants, evaluating every inch of my flesh. Small cuts lacerated my skin, peppered with purple and green bruises. I stretched my limbs as high as I could. The muscles burned with the effort but I made myself do it anyway. Then I reached down and touched my toes. It hurt, but it felt good.
My ankle ached a little too much to run in place, so I settled for making laps around the room, my contemplations causing the pacing to fly by. I couldn’t help that my thoughts crept toward my mother. Did she regret her dismissal of me? Did any part of her miss me, in spite of our personal differences?
How did she feel about Tessa selling me out, knowing that I was going to have a hearing soon?
If I was Homeless, I’d never see her again.
Sirama’s last conversation with me, beseeching me to talk to Hanna, replayed over and over again in my mind. Was she right? Should I try? Perhaps I could ease some of my guilt by taking Sirama’s advice. Reaching out to Hanna, seeing what she could possibly say to excuse her silence.
My instructor would want me to. I could do it for her, if nothing else.
I moved my arms as I walked laps. My muscles were warming up now, taking away the stiff soreness of my injuries.
Maybe if I went to see Hanna, let her know the dire situation with the Machine, she’d stop viewing me as the problem with our society and see that we had much bigger issues to worry about.
It was a little pathetic, how I still ached for her approval in spite of knowing I wasn’t wrong in who I was or how I chose to feel. But I saw the easy relationship Marshal had with his mother, father and sister, and I wanted that too. I’d never forgive myself for not trying, especially given how badly things were going with the Machine. Somehow, that put our squabble in perspective, made me a little more willing to try again.
Tomorrow I’d give it one last chance with Hanna. And if she still rejected me, so be it. Even as I thought that I laughed at myself. It’d hurt to have her turn me away, and I knew it. Lying to myself wouldn’t make it easier. All I could do was hope for the best.
I cleansed off with a small portion of water and saved the rest for later. The water smelled a little funny but didn’t seem to be fetid. Then I stretched out in bed, grabbing the book Areta had loaned me.
The pages smelled strange, not like our Book. They were warm, slightly musty, and the edges seemed so thin that I turned each page gingerly, afraid to crumble them. There was an introduction, which described Shakespeare, who apparently had written poems and something called plays.
The word made me smile, helped me shake off my deep sadness about Sirama and Hanna and Tessa for a little while. Play sounded fun, light, like an event I’d love to have tried. I remembered hearing in a lecture once that children used to play strange games, such as pretending to be adults. Maybe his plays had been like that, created with that fun, escapist concept.
The summary explained the concept of the play more, and I realized many of them were simply about the various lives and actions of adults. But one of the most common themes in his works, including his poetry, had been love. Falling in love, betrayed by love, all the ups and downs that came with this powerful emotion.
I flipped to the first poem, which was something called a sonnet. The introduction had said they’d been written to have specific rhymes and beats. His words were difficult to understand, thick with intent that I couldn’t seem to grasp. After having experienced a lifetime of the Machine’s poetry, I was left baffled yet intrigued.
How had anyone ever thought artificial renderings of art could compare to the real thing? And what other experiences was I being denied, given pale substitutes of the real thing because someone else had decided we would be fine with settling?
I said Shakespeare’s words out loud, letting the lines dance from my lips, traipse into my ears. There were slight blemishes I detected in his sentences as I spoke, which made it all the more compelling. The core trait of the ancient’s existence—imperfect beauty.
“From fairest creatures we desire increase,” I read. “That thereby beauty’s rose might never die.” A total mystery, but magnificent nonetheless. In a past lecture I had heard of a rose, which was a flowering plant on earth’s surface.
Were they still there?
I closed my eyes for a moment and was back on top. There had been lots of bright splashes of color that seemed beautiful, bold to me. Perhaps one of those was a rose. The next time I saw Areta, I’d have to ask her. She would possibly know.
And perhaps she’d know where we could find other books too. Now that I’d tasted this forbidden morsel, I couldn’t seem to stop.
All thoughts of my mother, of the Machine, slid out of my mind as I let myself be drawn into this strange, mysterious world of a man named William Shakespeare, far into the night.
Chapter 19
Five Days
“When one becomes a mother or father, the guidelines for interactions with offspring are clearly spelled out. Our public nurseries will take over childrearing post-birth to ensure consistent and effective education strategies. There is no need for a parent to be involved in the care and raising of children at all.” ~ The Book of the Machine
The next morning I stepped off the airship, looking around. The platform was the same as mine, the same as the one I’d used to see Hanson. Pristine and white. And empty. It was unsurprising to me that no one else was traveling, given the intense dislike for leaving the sacred pod space. But still, the silence was uncomfortable. I’d ridden alone on the air-ship, save one other old man.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up. I’d stayed up late reading, wrapped in the incomparable ideas the sonnets presented. There were extensive passages I’d been unable to understand. But within each poem I’d found snippets, pieces that had snapped together in my mind, painted an image. Shakespeare had revered beauty. Honor. Love. His words brimmed with hopefulness.
I carried that positivity inside me as I gathered my courage and made my way toward the appropriate lift.
I’d only ever gone to visit my mother once before, the time I’d talked about with that little girl on the air-ship. Rab é—that was her name. Rab é, with the deep, sad eyes and brave smile, pretending she wasn’t upset. I’d told her about my
mother’s rejection of face-to-face communication, trying to connect with the little girl since she’d seemed so sad. I hoped she wasn’t sad any longer.
This was an enormous risk I was taking, going to see Hanna in person. But that strange, tentative thread of optimism wouldn’t die out. The spark had been lit in me by Sirama and I needed to see this through, foolish or not.
The lift took me to the appropriate level. I summoned a chair, not wanting to ride but knowing I should meet Hanna in her comfort zone if I was going to invade her pod this way. Maybe she’d appreciate my compromise.
I drew in several shaky lungsful of air, willing my heart rate to steady as I traveled down the dim tunnel and got closer to her pod. I could do this. It was going to be fine. She didn’t have the power to hurt me—I was strong and independent now, and I could make it, regardless. And maybe once I told her about my hearing, she’d feel bad for pushing me away.
The chair reached her door. I tapped on it gently, waiting with bated breath. No answer. I knocked again.
She finally opened the door, surprise and shock all over her face. The lines on her face were spread from her eyes, digging into the sides of her mouth. She looked older than I’d realized, older than her image appeared on the screen. Old, and absolutely exhausted.
“Cally? What are you doing here?” she asked, weariness evident in the sighing tone of her voice. “And why is your face all cut up like that?”
I planted my hands in my lap and gave her the calmest, most in-control look I could muster. “I would like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.” There was no way I could tell her how I’d gotten injured, so I’d already decided I’d skirt around that question, should it arise.
Her brow wrinkled, creating more lines on her face, and her eyes darkened. “I thought we’d discussed this a long time ago. That we’d stick to communicating through the screen. And in fact—”
“I know, I know,” I interrupted, not wanting to let myself get upset by her pointed dismissal before I could even speak. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I’m sorry to barge in—I know that’s rude and I don’t blame you for being upset. So I appreciate you overlooking my lack of manners and talking to me.”
My self-effacing seemed to mollify her somewhat. She humphed and slid away from the door, letting me inside.
I can do this. I can do this. I chant ed the phrase to myself over and over again, trying to ease the pained, fearful cramp in my belly.
“Make it fast.” After closing the door, Hanna moved her chair into the room, giving an exasperated sigh. “I have a lot to do today, a lot of people to talk to. And I’m still looking for answers about the bed situation. Do you know I had to sleep sitting up in my chair? I got virtually no rest at all last night, and I’m exhausted.” She raised one eyebrow at me. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”
I couldn’t tell if she was looking for information or accusing me of something. Hoping for the former, I said, “Everyone else is having the same bed issues too. I talked to the repair committee yesterday—the problem is with the repair mechanism.” Choosing my next words carefully, I continued. “The committee said they’re waiting for the repair mechanism to fix itself. I’m not so sure that’s going to happen, though.”
Hanna crossed her arms over her large chest. “Well I’m sure they have no reason to lie to us. What are you saying?”
“No, it’s not that I think they’re lying to us.” I could hear the tension creeping into my voice and strained with all my might to keep it level. Emotional outbursts did not work with her. They shut her down. I have to stay calm. “I think they’re underestimating the situation. And I think the Machine is in much more dire straits than they realize.”
“Is this what you came over to tell me?” Hanna moved her chair over to the screen and started bringing up messages, the action summarily dismissing me. “I’m far too tired to listen to you spout lies about the Machine. I don’t even want to hear it.”
“Mother—Hanna,” I said, “the Committee contacted me. I have a hearing coming up soon.”
Her fingers stilled on the board. She turned to look at me, her face a little paler than before. “So they did it.”
“You already knew they were going to.” And she hadn’t told me. Yes, I’d guessed as much, but somehow the sting hurt worse having it confirmed.
“I didn’t know for sure when it would be,” she said, defensiveness creeping into her tone. “But I suspected it was coming soon. They were asking everyone you interact with about your actions lately. It’s your own fault, you know—you and these ridiculous ideas of yours. All these ways you disrespect the Machine so blatantly.”
I swallowed once, twice. “It’s possible I’m going to be Homeless. Doesn’t that bother you?”
She stared at me for a long time. “I suppose it does,” she finally said, shifting slightly in her chair to get comfortable. She arched her back just a little bit, groaning with the effort. “I never imagined a child of mine would be convicted of something heinous enough to warrant Homelessness.”
I reeled back, my pride stinging. This wasn’t about me—it never had been. It was about her and her ego. Her worries of being associated with someone tainted beyond saving. “This was a mistake,” I said. How could I ever think she’d be able to accept me, to give me a fair shot and listen to my side?
What a stupid, stupid idea.
Hanna shook her head. “Cally, it’s too late. There’s nothing I can do now to save you.”
“I came here not only to tell you about me but to warn you about the Machine. To encourage you to save yourself,” I hissed, unable to fight back the bite of anger. “It’s not going to last much longer. You have to open your eyes and look around you. This isn’t just about missing beds or rotten food. It’s bigger than that. Everything is falling apart. No one can or will fix it.” I paused, made myself say, “And if it keeps going like this, it’s going to destroy us.”
Her face froze, her jaw clenched so tight I could hear her teeth grinding. “How dare you. Get out, right now.” Her eyes were all ice and daggers, aimed right at me. I’d never seen her as angry as this. It poured off her in waves. “I can’t and I won’t listen to one more minute of this. Your…blatant disrespect of the Machine. In spite of these temporary setbacks, I have faith that it will save itself. That it will save us.” She narrowed her eyes. “And you’d better believe the Committee already knows about your lies on this, too.”
“I can’t believe I ever thought you could be reasonable,” I said, suddenly calm. The storm within my heart had stopped, giving me space to breathe, to rise out of my chair and stand on my own two feet. I stared down at her, this woman who’d given birth to me, who was a complete stranger. Lost. In that moment, my anger tangled up in pity, both warring within my chest. “I hope you take my warnings to heart. Save yourself before it’s too late.”
I turned around, opened the door and left, closing it gently behind me.
The walk back to the lift was long. Every step sounded in the silence, a soft shuffle that reminded me how alone I was here, on the other side of the world from my haven with Marshal and Kuno.
Marshal. I ached to wrap my arms around him, press my face into his neck and breathe him in. But I felt like lately, all I’d done was dump my problems on his shoulders. I’d done that to Sirama, and it was unfair to her. Marshal already had enough to stress about with the Machine, with fretting over my hearing. I wouldn’t keep adding to his worries.
I wouldn’t add to anyone else’s worries anymore.
So I took the lift to the platform then got back on the air-ship, giving the attendant a cursory nod and settling into my quiet cabin. No one else was here. I locked the cabin door after the attendant made sure I was comfortable.
When we took off into the sky, I opened the blinds and let in the midmorning sunshine. Trees and grass faded away beneath me, and we plunged into the clouds. The white fluffiness enveloped the air-ship.
&nbs
p; Up here, I could pretend that scene with Hanna hadn’t happened. That I’d just happened to be on this air-ship, traveling for no real purpose. No matter the squabbles we humans had, nature kept going on and going on, with or without us.
The thought was strangely comforting. A good distraction from a sadness so deep and bitter and profound within my heart that I didn’t even know how to let it out. How to process it.
But when it came pouring forth, I didn’t know how I’d ever stop it.
Areta had to be out and about this morning, maybe finding breakfast. Digging her naked toes into the cool dirt. Smelling the overpowering scents of flowers. What would it be like to do that every day? To know your life was your own, that you lived only at your own whims?
I gave a dark laugh, filled with no mirth.
I might very well find out soon enough.
Chapter 20
Four Days
“There is no problem in the Machine that the repair mechanism can’t repair. Should you be in need of assistance, simply contact the appropriate committee. See the index at the back for a list.” ~ The Book of the Machine
It was warm. Far too warm. Still sleepy, I shoved my covers off the top of me. But that wasn’t enough of a relief.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, sitting up in bed. Something was odd. Wrong.
Then it hit me. The air smelled different. Like…like it wasn’t moving. Like air that had been trapped in a small room for far too long, its freshness leaked out a long time ago. What was going on?
I turned off manual mode and isolation, ignoring as best as I could the heavy groan and whine of the Machine as it connected me back to the core. The recessed lights in the ceiling flickered on, blinking. It made me a little sick to stare, so I looked away. They hissed slightly then dropped down to a dimness so low I couldn’t see much around me.
It was getting worse.
A surge of panic filled my chest and I could hardly breathe. I dropped my head between my knees and sucked in a few shallow draws of air. Don’t do this now, I said to myself, trying to ignore the terror tingling my lips and fingers. I had to keep it together.
Ten Days Page 15
